Donna Reed, Dinner and Apron Strings

It's been a while since I did a crossover Wednesday but, this week, I found myself thinking (and writing) about self-acceptance, making it the topic du jour here and at Organizing by STYLE.

I don't like to cook. I don't hate it, but there are many other things I'd rather be doing. Before my daughter went to college, I was chief cook and my husband was chief bottle washer. Four years later, as empty-nesters, we'd changed to a different schedule. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I cooked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my husband went to the gym, so we adopted an everyone-fends-for-him- (or her-) self plan. On Fridays, we went out to eat and on weekends, we figured it out. 

Then, last spring, our empty nest was suddenly full again. In addition, the way I was teaching shifted dramatically (along with everything else), and finding time to do the thing that was necessary but un-fun was more challenging than ever. I loved having a table for three again, but quickly grew weary of being the one who arranged for all those mouths to be fed.

So, I had a chat with my family about the dinner deal. We agreed that Mom would cook on Mondays and Wednesdays. Tuesdays and Thursdays, we'd revert to the empty-nest/Dad-goes-to-the-gym plan of attack (even though COVID was making the gym an impossibility). Fridays we'd do takeout (had to keep the local restaurants in business, after all) and on weekends we'd figure it out. No one seemed to mind.

Except my inner Donna Reed.

She insisted (and still does) that it's my job to make dinner. I muzzle her (but don't completely silence her) by making enough food on the nights that I cook to leave plenty of leftovers from which to choose on any given "fend for ourselves" night. Though I'm not exactly sitting around eating bon bons on the nights I don't cook, at times, I still find myself feeling a little bit guilty. A little less good than the other mothers.

Apparently, implicit beliefs die hard. And self-acceptance can get strangled by apron strings. 

Slowly, I'm learning to tune Donna out, especially since, with this plan, everyone actually gets more of what they like. All of us have different food preferences and tolerances. On the nights we each make our own dinner, we can eat whatever we want, regardless of anyone else's taste. The leftovers rarely go to waste because there's almost always someone foraging through the fridge at lunch time.

Sounds like a sweet deal all around, doesn't it?

If only I could keep Donna muzzled.

It also helps that last summer, I realized that this plan, quite accidentally, plays a role in nurturing the self-sufficiency I want to teach my daughter -- a self-sufficiency that had begun developing long before last March. Lately, I've been thinking that perhaps all of this points to one other thing I want her to know.

Don't listen to Donna Reed.